Vengeance
by Tarma Hartley
Summary: Mafia/Baker AU. Miles searches for the Gang that was responsible for the attack on his lover, Phoenix Wright, and his search has lead him to an abandoned warehouse... and he intends to make them suffer the consequences...
**Inspired by a drawing by thisedgeysfangirl. This fic is for you and dedicated to you with grateful thanks! ^_^**

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 _Phoenix and Miles Edgeworth do not belong to me; they belong to CAPCOM. Other incidental characters, Mark and Danny Barton and the plot, however, are mine. This is also based on a drawing by thisedgeysfangirl on /Baker AU is based on Nim's comics._

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Mark Barton made the singular mistake of attacking someone who was close to Miles. BAD MISTAKE! Seriously, WHY make it PERSONAL and give them a reason to go after you? I know that its common practice for people to go after someone's loved one(s) if they can't reach the person in question but that's a bad thing to do (its a bad thing to do IN GENERAL but why make them even more determined to destroy you?) and making it personal only motivates them to hunt you down.

The address of where the abandoned warehouse is Upper West Chicago exists in no other place outside of my own imagination. *By point of explanation, its a shoutout to S.M.C. Cartage Company at 2122 North Clark Street in Chicago... the place of the hit on some of the members of George "Bugs" Moran's gang-Al "Scarface" Capone is believed to have been responsible for the hit but it was never proven definitively; Moran certainly believed it and Capone was later brought down on tax evasion charges-February 14, 1929. The St. Valentine's Day Massacre.*

Enjoy! ^)^

 **Thank you** to Nim for taking a look and her opinion! MUCH APPRECIATED!

 **Thank you** to my AWESOME beta, Pearls1990, for her awesome skills! MUCH APPRECIATED!

 **A HUGE THANK YOU** to all my readers, followers and those who have favourited/followed my work! MUCH APPRECIATED! ^_^ This is also based on Mafia/Baker AU comics by Nim.

 **EXTRA HUGE SPECIAL THANKS** to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for his steadfast love, encouragement, belief in me, encouragement, nagging (when necessary) and helping to keep me grounded during the writing process so I don't tear my hair out! Love you, babe! *kiss*

Rate Teen, male/male relationships, violence, Drama, Phoenix x Edgeworth

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 _March 29th_  
 _49 Cartage Street_  
 _West End_  
 _Chicago_  
 _3:30 P.M._

Miles Edgeworth narrowed his eyes as he peered around the corner of the abandoned warehouse where the remnants of the Barton Gang were holed up.

He'd had his eye on this Gang for months and, with discreet inquiries, he'd found out that they had been secretly operating out of Chicago's West End for the past nine months; he'd also learned it was they who were responsible for the continued bad luck he'd had at his legitimate businesses there.

He had made other, equally discreet inquiries, for another, more personal reason: it was _this_ Gang who was responsible for the attack on his lover, Phoenix Wright, who owned a bakery downtown. It had only been by sheer luck-wryly, he thought that Phoenix had _more_ than his share of incredibly good luck-that he _hadn't_ been there when they'd hit _The Bun Agency._

Thankfully, no one had been present in the bakery itself at the time-although, had they come an hour later, Phoenix would have been there to open it up for the day-and he couldn't help but wonder if it were they who were also responsible for a near attack on him six months earlier.

Regardless, it would take time and capital to rebuild and he'd been more than happy to foot the bill, overriding Phoenix's protests to the contrary. He contacted a local contractor and he'd learned the other day that the process of rebuilding had finally begun.

No, the hit on Phoenix's bakery had been the final straw and he was determined to make these miscreants come to heel... or he would destroy them utterly. Word had gone out on the criminal Underworld grapevine that Mr. Edgeworth was looking for the person, or persons, responsible for both the attack on Phoenix Wright and on his business and he would pay handsomely for _any_ information that would lead him to them.

Tips had poured into his office and only followed up on the ones that seemed credible, having Dick Gumshoe, his personal bodyguard and right hand man, make discreet inquiries. The tip that had lead him to the Barton Gang's secret hideout had been by one of his own contacts in Chicago's West End who's business had also been suffering for the past few months because of their predations.

He also learned that it was their custom, if you wanted to call it that, to move in somewhere and horn in on a business by threatening mayhem on the owner, or owners, of the various businesses located in the area; if they didn't pay, they would destroy the building it was housed in, usually by either torching it or bombing it. If extortion didn't work, then outright murder was next on the docket and he'd been aware of many unsolved murders that had occurred in the area over the past four months. Having the police breathing down his neck was also another source of irritation, particularly since he wasn't in any way responsible for any of them. Thankfully, he had been able to prove his innocence in this matter quite definitively.

If were simply a case of extortion, Miles could turn a blind eye to it-he certainly wasn't above using it to bring someone to heel although he very rarely did-but not when it lead to murder and certainly not when the attack had been aimed at the man he loved. He'd seethed inwardly for weeks afterward, insisting that Phoenix be guarded twenty-four hours a day; he wasn't taking _any_ chances with his life.

He'd been the target of an assassination attempt three weeks earlier and, again, it was purely good fortune that had prevented him from becoming another casualty; after that, despite that Phoenix protested vigorously to the contrary, he'd set an around the clock guard on him and damn the consequences.

He knew that his lover was wondering exactly why he was acting like this and insisting on having men discreetly shadow him but he didn't push the issue and things had generally quieted but Miles wasn't fooled by appearances; he'd been a Mafia Don too long to be taken in by apparent quiet and had begun his dogged search for information on the Gang's whereabouts.

Now, as he locked and loaded his rifle, holding it at the ready position, he saw his men quietly getting into position at various points around the warehouse; judging from the loud, raucous noise coming from within, the Gang was unaware that they were even present which suited him just fine. He preferred, when engaging in an all out assault as he knew this would be, to have the object of surprise on his side; the Gang wouldn't know what hit them and, if he were lucky, he'd crush both them and their extortion racket at the same time... and have revenge on them for their attack on Phoenix.

 _I won't allow_ that _to go unanswered_ , he thought grimly, biting his bottom lip as he cautiously moved forward one slow step at a time. _And I'll make damned sure that they pay, in full, for what those bastards did to him._

He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and his head whipped around to see who it was but it was only one of his men moving into position behind the back door of the warehouse. He willed his racing heart to calm. There could be no mistakes made here and he was determined to drive them straight into his trap. As a Don, he couldn't afford to have rivals in any case anyway but even their taste for blood and mayhem was distasteful to him... and he'd been involved in some himself.

He looked around one more time and saw that all was ready to go and he nodded his head twice... the prearranged signal for his men to attack; with a loud scream from a dozen throats, the men attacked, kicking open both doors and racing in with guns blazing.

Miles waited for a moment before he ran in himself, pulling the trigger as he made his way inside. He could see that there were intermittent pockets of resistance still engaging his men in a gun battle but he could also see that there were many men dead; thankfully none of them were his own. He stopped as he turned the corner, sidestepping a large pool of blood that was spreading out in a terrible crimson umbrella shape under the bullet-riddled corpse of Danny Barton, Mark Barton's younger brother and right hand man.

He looked at the dead body briefly before he moved on, swinging his rifle around and peppering the room with a hail of bullets. He had the satisfaction of cutting down four men personally who were dead even before they had a chance to return fire, their corpses toppling on top of one another in a hideous pyramid.

He didn't spare them another glance since he was once again running and dodging a bullet that whizzed bu his ear; cursing, his lowered his head just as another volley exploded over him, spraying him with chunks of wood and plaster.

Cursing, he raced around the corner, spraying another round of ammunition, hearing the grunts and loud cries of the men that he had hit as he ran, dodging and whirling. He'd left specific instructions to his men and they were grimly to the point: leave the leader of the Gang, Mark Barton, to _me_.

Miles narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of Mark Barton moving quickly off to his left so he pivoted in mid-stride, dodging a volley that peppered him with pieces of ceramic tile as they tore up the floor around him.

He'd ducked around a corner, stepping back as another hail of bullets ricocheted off the the wall, wincing as he caught some shrapnel on his shoulder.

"Give it up, Barton!" he shouted once the hail of bullets stopped, the acrid smell of gun powder heavy in the air, the smoke twisting in thin tendrils in graceful swirls upward. "You're surrounded!"

"Go to Hell, Edgeworth!" came the response from somewhere to his far right and he squinted, trying to see in the thick haze.

"I'm taking you with me if I do!" he retorted, firing a round in the direction that the voice had come.

"Fine by me! It would please me to no end to send your black soul to Hell, with a few bullet holes in your rotten corpse for good measure!" Mark Barton laughed uproariously. "Maybe I'll even send your _precious_ little baker along with you!"

Miles gritted his teeth, rage coloring his eyesight as he fought to get himself under control. "Better men than _you_ have tried and _they're_ dead and buried! You might want to rethink _that_ strategy!"

 _You touch a hair on his head, Barton, and I swear you're a dead man!_

A bitter laugh came from a few feet behind him to the left and he knew that his quarry was stalking him; it was a smooth batch of movements that he was making a slow advance toward his position and, despite himself, he had to give credit to that weasel for intelligence.

Distracting his target with petty insults while he made slow advance toward him was a brilliant move and he vowed not to fall for it again as he moved silently across the concrete floor, his grey eyes narrowing as he took in the surrounding area.

He had a rudimentary idea of where Mark Barton was but he didn't want to give him a chance to get at him so he resolved to move quietly, one small step at a time, zigzagging every second step to either the left or right in order to leave a confusing trail that, he fervently hoped, wouldn't alert him as to his position until it was too late... and then he would have him cornered.

"You're certainly very quiet there, Miles," Barton's voice prattled dismissively and Miles heard another round go off far to his left of where he currently stood. "Did I say something to offend the high and mighty Mr. Edgeworth?" A sly snicker. "Or, should I say, did I _do_ something to your precious little baker?"

"How did you know?" Miles growled in response. He couldn't help himself.

"Oh, _do_ give me some credit for having _some_ degree of intelligence! I've known for months that you and Mr. Wright are involved; how else could I draw you out into the open _except_ to make a hit on _The Bun Agency_?" A malicious laugh came from somewhere in front of him and he had to fight hard to keep the rage he could feel roiling deep inside from exploding, and thereby alerting him to _where_ his quarry was heading. "And it worked wonderfully well! I will admit that I was truly hoping to send him to you in a body bag but it seems that my little plan worked, just the same, for here _you_ are trapped in _my_ web!"

 _We'll see about_ that, _Barton, you miserable bastard!_

Miles gritted his teeth, grim determination sweeping through him as he slowly advanced. Barton's taunts came out at him but he made no reply as he continued moving; it was difficult not to respond to the childish and petty insults but he knew better than to engage his enemy and, when it all came right down to it, he wanted the element of surprise on his side.

"Too damned good for me are you, Mr. Edgeworth? Well, we'll soon see about that, won't we? I'm pleased to tell you that I've targeted your precious little baker for assassination later on next week." He laughed again, a hideous cackling sound as Miles moved silently toward him, his index finger resting lightly on the trigger of his AK-47 assault rifle.

"Of course," he continued, moving around in a circle, his arms held out wide by his sides, the Uzi in his left hand pointing straight down, "it really isn't going to matter since I'm going to kill you right here and take _my_ place as the true head of the Mafia of Chicago's West End _before_ I send your precious Mr. Phoenix Wright to you!"

 _You miserable son of a bitch! If you ever touch a hair on Phoenix's head, I swear I'll kill you with my own two bare hands!  
_  
"Nothing to say, Mr. Edgeworth?" The taunts were coming I a steady stream, well seasoned with invective, from ahead of him and he moved slowly forward, sweat beading on his brow as he took careful aim. He could feel himself tremble a little but he forced himself to be still; there could be no retreat from his purpose now. If he didn't end this here and now, Barton would certainly end it for him and there was no telling what mayhem he would unleash on the people of Chicago. "I'm really not surprised, actually; you never _did_ have a taste for killing... not like _I_ do anyway."  
 _  
Keep talking; that's it, Barton. Just keep talking..._

"I wonder how Mr. Wright will take your death? Very hard, I would imagine since he's so obviously besotted with you but, then again, maybe he might not because I don't even think that you've _told_ him that _you're_ with the Mafia, have you?" He chuckled mirthlessly while Miles crept slowly forward until he was five feet away from him. "Oh, HO! How delicious is this?! Well then, I'll be perfectly happy to tell him before I kill him the truth about his precious Mr. Edgeworth! What have you got to say about that?!"

"Just this." Barton whirled around just in time to see the flash from the muzzle of the AK-47 as a hail of bullets shredded him; his surprised eyes were wide open as his body jerked as the bullets hit home, looking like a crazed marionette on strings before he toppled over face first onto the floor, blood streaming from over a dozen bullet wounds.

He made a croaking sound in his throat before he died, casting a baleful eye on Miles before it fluttered shut and his body stilled.

Miles looked down on him for a few moments before he put the AK-47 over his shoulder and, turning, began to slowly walk away while his men cleaned up the bodies and the blood spatters behind him.

He stepped outside and looked up into the late Spring sun, closing his eyes and smiling.

 _The biggest mistake that you made was in underestimating me, Barton. Did you_ really _think that_ I _would let_ you _harm_ him? _Now, both my business interests, and my love, are safe; it is_ you _who are on your way straight to Hell and not me._

Miles opened his eyes and watched dispassionately as three black vans drove up to the warehouse, a dozen men garbed in black clothing jumping out and racing inside. He nodded in satisfaction as he saw them carrying out bodies and throwing them into the back of one of the vehicles while another crew brought in cleaning supplies in order to clean up the evidence left from the fire fight.

He took another deep breath and, after moment of silence, he reached into his pocket, took out his cell phone and dialed a number with quick, efficient fingers. He couldn't wait to tell Gumshoe the good news and, after that, he would call Phoenix and make a date with him for later on in the evening.

He smiled as he walked away. All was well.

 **.:FIN:.**


End file.
